


Like Riding a Bike

by twisted_savior



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: BAMFish!Q, M/M, Mild torture, upcoming graphic sex time
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-30
Updated: 2012-12-30
Packaged: 2017-11-22 23:14:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/615452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twisted_savior/pseuds/twisted_savior
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>((Post Skyfall)) Kidnapped, Q's only options are to wait...or to get himself out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like Riding a Bike

As his mind whirled back to working order, all he could feel was the heaviness of his limbs. There was a throbbing in the back of his head, but he wasn't sure if that was there before or after the pistol whip to his temple. Scrunching his brow, he could feel a dried substance, blood he assumed, crack and flake down the right side of his face. Straining his shoulders in an effort to stretch, he muffled his groan of pain. He had been tied to a metal chair, arms behind him and wrists corded in razor wire. He felt new blood slipping along the curve of his wrist from the movement. By now, anyone watching him knew he was conscious once more.

He lifted his head, the throbbing growing even more apparent. Opening an eye, the room was dark with absolutely nothing to give him light. It was all walls and concrete flooring. He tried moving his legs only to have razor wire cut into his ankles and blood run along the curve of his bare foot. Of course they had taken his shoes. The watch he wore over his left sleeve was gone as well and he couldn't even remember when he last had on his glasses. He pulled himself up so that he could sit straight, relieving a painful cramp from his stiff back. More blood trailed down his limbs and joints, but he paid no mind to the piercing pain. It all felt so familiar.

There was still a small sting of bitterness in his heart towards M. If he hadn't called him out for something so trivial, so boring, he wouldn't have been out on the street at four in the morning. They argued over the matter for several minutes. It was simple. He could hack a system from his bed, no need to call him out. Mallory knew. He, of all people, knew of situation he was in. The previous M had made sure to inform him of the news, the set of eyes watching his every move. It was only a matter of time. There was no one on the street, not an agent with him, and nothing to protect himself with.

"Sodding bastard." He spat, the tang of copper biting his tongue. Just as he closed his mouth, lights flickered on and there was a sharp blade pressing into the underside of his chin.

…...

He received a call early one Saturday morning. Rolling to his side, he debated answering. He plucked the device from his night table and placed it by his ear with a sigh.

"Bond." He said, sleep still present in his voice.

"007, you're needed at Ml6 now. New mission." The aged blond furrowed his brow.

"I usually get at least a week between missions, Mallory, even when I'm not injured." There was a clicking of teeth over the line.

"We've lost a very important treasure, Bond, and I need it back in one piece. You're the only person I see fit for the job. Even if I sent another agent, you'd throw a fit that I didn't send you. Are you refusing?" The agent snorted, more awake now.

"What is it?" He replied, slowly moving back the covers and throwing his feet over the side of his mattress. James guessed that he'd refuse to answer him, claiming confidentiality on the matter.

"Your Quartermaster." In an instant, James had snapped his phone closed and was in the bathroom under a spray of hot water. There was no time to waste. Q was waiting.

…...

Blood was seeping into the collar of his shirt now, staining the brilliant white a rusted red.

"You're going to hack Ml6 and give us names, all of them." Q smirked at his captor, staring up at him. Like he'd ever do that.

"I don't see how that's possible. I need my hands." A hand was suddenly in his hair, gripping the curled locks and pulling his head back. He pulled back his lip in a snarl of sorts.

"You can tell us what to do. We're not incompetent." The quartermaster stifled his laugh. These two? They were all muscle. They wouldn't be able to explain the difference between a Windows and a Mac.

"You two are no better than trained monkeys. I know neither of you are the brains. You've got someone whispering in your ears. I can tell from the way you pause between speaking. You wait for your boss to give you lines. You're only a bloody parrot. Tell him I said hello, it's been a while since we last met." He didn't make a single noise as the knife from earlier was stabbed into the tender meat of his thigh. Nor when a hand was thrown against his face, leaving reddened marks from jeweled rings.

"Fine. Stay that way, ya prick. The boss will be 'ere soon 'nough ta deal wit ya." Q resisted rolling his eyes. He merely stared down at the blade protruding from his leg. Yes, it hurt. The first muscled ape leaned over and twisted the knife, enough so that Q could visibly see the the white muscle tissue curving around it. He ripped out the blade, blood dripping from the tip. The genius bit his bottom lip. He wasn't about the let them hear him cry out. He had been trained for this. And once taught something like this, you never forget.

As they left, Q prayed that someone, anyone would find him soon. There was a cold numbness climbing his extremity.

…...

Bond flew through the halls of Ml6, pushing passed the throngs of people. Apparently, he wasn't the only person worried, but he doubted it was for the same reason.

"What the bloody hell do you mean Q is lost?" He roared upon entering M's office. Mallory didn't miss a beat.

"For months now, your quartermaster has been being tracked. But it was only to the point of what his skills consisted of. He had been involved in mission once, before he was a quartermaster at all. There were loose ends left. They recognized his ability and tied him back to us. Once they learned of his importance to Ml6, they made it their goal to figure out who he really was, where he lived, and his daily routine. He has the entire security system in his head, every single nook and cranny memorized. My predecessor did not fail to inform me of this. She was quite clear about your quartermaster's sensitive situation and the importance of keeping him safe. It seems I have failed in doing so." Mallory admitted, eyes downcast as if he were ashamed.

"Understatement of the century." 007 bit out. Mallory glanced up this time, eyes hard.

"While his intelligence is a benefit to us, to others it would be our downfall. It wouldn't be such a worry if he had a cyanide pill to back out." Bond nearly growled.

"You'd have the most brilliant mind in this entire department kill himself? Without even attempting to retrieve him?" M sighed and pushed the file at him.

"He knows of his responsibility and commitment to Ml6, Bond. As do you. I do not think I need to emphasize the fact he needs to be brought back in one piece." 007 took the file from the desk, not giving the manila envelope a second glance.

"You should read up on that during transport, 007. It's not much really. Go down and meet with your temporary quartermaster, and Bond?" The agent had turned away and was half way out of the door by the time his named was called. He stopped, but didn't bother facing the other man.

"Don't be surprised with what you find. Your quartermaster is a very...talented young man." Bond turned at that, quirking a brow. Mallory's expression offered nothing in explanation.

"Good luck, Bond." M went back to typing and Moneypenny was already pushing him out of the office. Eve caught his elbow before he could walk away.

"If you find him, tell him, James. Please." Her dark whiskey-toned eyes caught his blues. The meaning wasn't lost.

"When I find him, Miss Moneypenny, when."

Until then, Q was waiting.

…...

Q sat in the loneliness of the room, wrists and ankles throbbing in pain as blood continued in a steady flow out of his veins. The blood dried to other various parts of his body itched to be scratched off. There was a soreness over his cheek were he'd been hit numerous times. The bruises, the cuts, the gaping wounds left to collect infection all ached. He was tired and could barely see without his glasses. The throbbing headache had turned into a piercing migraine yesterday.

Yesterday.

He sighed heavily, staring at his bare feet. They were the only remaining parts of his body unharmed in any way. A rueful smile crossed his features.

How long was he going to have to wait for someone to show up?

How many more times was he going to have to feel the stab of metal through his body before an agent swung in?

How much more blood was he going to have spilled before 007 would show up on a stallion?

With a deep breath, steeled himself.

He might not get out, but, God be damned, if he wasn't going to die trying.

He was going to be ready when the door opened next.

…...

007 scowled at the small radio transmitter in his hand. His temporary quartermaster was anything but helpful, or intelligent at that. He lacked the ability to form quick-witted responses, or even an original thought. Everything was from a book. Or parroted from another one of Q's minions who didn't want to speak with him, let alone be in arm's length from him.

Roughly seven hours later, Bond was preparing himself to run the streets of Toronto.

The file he had been handed didn't help much. The mission happened nearly eight years about, when Q was approximately twenty-four. It didn't give specifics of why Q was involved, but he guessed it had to do with some type of information scandal. The opposing group had been rather interested in what the young quartermaster could do. It had resulted in Q being tossed across the country in a wild goose chase and returning to Britain worse for the wear. More like three months wasted away in a hospital room unconscious. The data had been secured by Britain in the end, but, while damaged greatly, the unidentified group escaped.

He strapped his Walther in the holster on his hip and fitted his radio into place.

Q was waiting.

…...

The moment the door opened, Q's eyes opened. Without lifting his head, he checked how many were in the room.

Two feet. One person.

They had left him alone for five hours. He had counted the minutes in his head. Being left alone in the dark gave him the perfect cover. The moment he started moving his wrists, he regretted it. But the pain kept him moving. The bladed spikes tore through his skin like butter, slicing away the tender meat and flesh like it were nothing. Blood was pooling under the chair now, continuously dripping into a growing puddle. When they were free, he could feel the long, open gashes over his palm. Luckily enough, his fingers only caught a few scratches.

That was until he moved to this feet. Just flexing his fingers made the tendons pull at the new wounds. The darkness didn't help in his attempt to avoid the razors. His fingers were pricked and snagged as he tried unwinding the wire. It was pulled tight enough that Q had to pry the small blades from his ankles.

Finally, the razor wire released his ankles.

He was free-well, his body at least. Slowly, he used his hands to push his sore body up from the chair. His joints cracked from lack of use and the wound on his leg screamed in protest. He arched his back in a stretch, enjoying the popping sound. Sitting back down, he went over what he had at hand.

Razor wire.

There was a knife hidden in the heel of his shoe...which had been taken.

There was a transmitter in his watch that provided an electric current...which had also been taken.

He had nothing but razor wire.

Reaching for it, he took in a sharp breath. He twined the metal wire around his fist in a tight bundle, serving as make shift brass knuckles. The other half was bundled in his left hand for a different use. He sat back back in the chair and pulled himself tight so he'd be ready to launch himself.

His target was here.

The moment the door shut, Q was up. A well aimed punch to the face, right in the eye, caught the thug off guard. Quickly, he brought the other half of barbed wire around the man's neck and pulled it tight. The blade dug into the other man's jugular. When the quartermaster ripped the wire away, the thug fell to the ground with a heavy thump. Blood bubbled from his mouth and seeped from his neck. In less than a minute, the thug was lifeless.

A small grin crossed the quartermaster's. The adrenaline pumping through his body, oh it had been so long. So many years in front of a computer instead of playing the field. It wouldn't be long before another thug came in.

Digging through the dead man's pockets, he found both a knife and handgun. Not ones he would prefer to use, mostly because he didn't create them, but they would do for now.

He could escape with these.

…...

_:Take the next right, 007:_

He was currently running through an abandoned building, one with long, winding halls and open corridors. The lights in the first corridor were dim, not bright enough to draw attention to himself. The halls were not much different.

Bond made a humming noise in response and reloaded his handgun as he peeked around the corner. Two men stood with their backs to the open hall. Flicking the safety off, he closed one eye and aimed. The first thug fell to floor without a single protest as a bullet lodge itself deep within the back of his head, instantly dead.

The second thug turned, catching Bond's presence. Before he could even open his mouth to signal someone, a bullet was in is throat. Blood gurgled as it fell in dark pools from his mouth. 007 straightened himself out and began running down the hall.

"What's next?" He asked his temporary quartermaster.

_:There should be a panel in the left wall. Open it and disconnect the main breaker. This way, they won't be able to monitor you:_

Bond kept running, one hand on the left wall to feel for the panel in the dark. He stopped when his fingers ran over smooth metal. Pulling the panel door open, he grabbed the small torch from his pocket. Flicking off the main breaker, the lights at either end of the hall disappeared completely. Shouts and gun fire resounded off the walls.

_:Well, you heard them, Bond. Your quartermaster should be in that direction. Get to it:_

Bond scoffed at the radio. No one had to tell him twice. He launched himself down the hall, urging his legs to move faster.

Q was still waiting.

Reaching the corridor, he was shocked at the force brought to his stomach. The impact left him breathless and stumbling to the floor. It was just enough time for his attacker to grab his gun and level it between his eyes.

"Shit." Bond swore under his breath, staring up into the light of a torch. The gun was suddenly brought down.

"007?" A voice asked. The torch was clicked off and thrown somewhere. The small streams of light coming in from the rectangular windows, near the top of the corridor, allowed Bond to make out little of who stood before him. It was undoubtedly a male who was tall, thin, and with a dark curls crowning is head.

Oh, that voice. That same calm tone that usually whispered in his ear during missions.

"Q?" He tried. A pale hand reached out, fingers wanting something to touch.

"James?" The voice sounded small now, much more vulnerable. The agent let his own hand shoot forward, letting their fingers meet first. Calloused skin stroked over the slim wrist before grabbing it, pulling the man down to his knees. Q tucked himself into the man's chest, arms tight around the blond's neck. 007 had his chin resting atop of the curls, eyes closed and enjoying the feel of the man around him. A short moment passed before they split. Bond gripped Q's shoulders and pushed him away.

"We need to get you out of here. Let's go." Q nodded frantically in agreement. Bond stood, pulling Q up with him.

"I realize you've come from the west entrance, but we're going to need to go out of the north one." The other nodded, not questioning his instruction. As they rounded the corner, Q pulled James back by the sleeve.

"And this is why you get shot. Did you even look to see if there was anyone in there?" Bond kept himself silent, annoyed Q was scolding him on what he had done for the last twenty some odd years.

"I think I know what I'm doing, Q. It's my job, remember?" He snapped. With a sigh, Q stood to full height and fiddled with something on his hand. He then looked down at the Ml6 agent.

"Go right ahead, 007. I'll be behind you shortly." Bond furrowed his brow, but lunged out into the open room. There were four men seated at a table with cards and a lit lantern. Six more stood at a row of powered off computers, trying to figure out what had shut them off. The first up were the men at the table, each pulling some type of weapon. His hand flew to his side, looking for his gun, only to remember Q had it last.

"Fucking hell, kid." He dodged one man only to be hit with what felt like a wooden bat in the back of his shoulder. Before he could swing himself around, a gun was fired. Instantly, James dropped himself to the floor. He wasn't hit but Q...

Was holding the gun.

The man with the bat was now on the floor with a bulled hole between his eyes. Bond, wide eyed, stared at Q. The quartermaster stood across the room in the door way, aiming for another thug. One shot and another body hit the floor.

"No time for that, 007. Get your arse up and do something." Q ordered, throwing the gun aside now that it had no rounds. James shot up from the floor, uppercutting a man charging Q. From the corner of his eye, he watched Q move. His slender body bending and twisting with grace as he put all his power behind his attacks. Each punch drawing more blood than expected from each man. In the barely lit room, he couldn't see the damage done on Q. As the last body hit the floor, James turned to his quartermaster.

"Not exactly new at this, are you?" Q chuckles darkly.

"After a while, nothing is new. You know that. The exit is right there, let's go." They took off running, 007 even more annoyed that he can't see what's been done to Q. In an alley, Bond hot wired car and shoved Q into the passenger seat.

"Did they get what they wanted?" Bond asked, not taking his eyes off of the road. He heard Q sigh and settle himself.

"Absolutely not. I'm not easy." A chuckle escaped James' mouth before he could even think to stop it.

"Never thought you would be." The agent could see the other look down at his hand again, a frown firmly on his face.

"Are you alright?" The blond asked.

"A safe place would be much appreciated at the moment." Taking a left, they wound up on a bridge heading to the country side. The large lights were more than enough for James to see the damage, the blood, the razor wire. His knuckles gripped the steering wheel until they're white.

"Hold on, Q. We'll be there soon." Bond pressed his foot more firmly to the gas, making his way across the bridge and out of the city.

Q was waiting on him.

 


End file.
